I used to walk the green chain-link fences separating the International Tennis Center from the courts where only elite and professional players participated. I was seven, and already had what felt like arthritis in my fingers. Sharp pains, unexpected bends.. They always seemed to stretch out one-second or so after I made an effort to extend them. I could usually feel the muscle against the bone. Anyways, I walked the fence for one reason, I wanted a ball stamped with the ATP, that’s Associated of Tennis Professionals for those that aren’t so luckily sports inclined as I am. On this day there were no balls. The landscaping crew must have eaten them up with their Dixie Chopper ride-on-lawnmowers. It was hot… I ventured across the busy avenue, named after the ocean to the east, and into the Taj Mahal, Cathedral if you will… The 72-degree air conditioned downtown library, filled with homeless avoiding the heat reading comic books, about Dale Earnhardt and to my amusement the Financial Times.
In the library you could hear a pin drop. Some patrons slept, others worked on betterment of education and in the back west corner a newpaper writer typed about a bank robber, a criminal that used the disguise of a William H. Jefferson mask. “Fucking Bill Clinton!” He wanted to type as the headline. The library gala was last night and to the reporter’s amazement, Bill had fucking entered the downstairs of the library with a 30.06 rifle, and a need for the thousands of dollars of uncounted gala donations. To be continued…
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